The Donald Trump Card

Apparently it’s American to fall into a binary orbit around a rich, moneyed political class, yet still feign a deep interest in changing the political process. Why else does every candidate strive to appeal to the nonchalant indifference and defeatism infecting the plebian masses’ opinion of the future of American politics? When you really think about it, due to the influence of cash-money and various well-placed constitutional roadblocks, an individual is unlikely to make a significant “political” difference without a shit ton of money and a drooling mass communications network rabid with a ratings frenzy. The odds are supremely stacked against the vast majority of lone individuals. Enter Donald Trump.

Donald Trump has a lot of money.  And if you, like me, consider American presidential campaigns well produced reality shows whose contestants are recruited and assiduously groomed by super-PACs for the free world’s most totally awesome and rad reality show on Earth, then Donald Trump’s trump card is this –

He doesn’t care. He has enough money to produce his own reality show. He doesn’t need to wait for for moneyed political class to get on board.

Of course, a significant chunk of Americans don’t care either, so in the end, it works works out for at least some of the polls. Now, who can’t wait for the next reality show challenge?!?


The First Republican Primary Debate, 2015

Obama Versus The Gift That Keeps Giving

Obama Versus The Gift That Keeps Giving

Moderator Raymond: So, Governor Raymond, let’s talk about social issues. If you were elected President, how would you address those Americans who feel persecuted when they express contempt for new LGBT rights?

Governor Raymond: Absolutely. First, I want everybody to know that I believe all Americans are entitled to the protections and rights offered by the Constitution. I’ll wait for applause. Now, that being said, not everybody is entitled to those protections and rights. You see, my god believes in one, and only one meaningful expression of love.

Moderator Raymond: Senator Raymond, do you have anything to add?

Senator Raymond: Let me deflect this question by redirecting the conversation towards something I’m willing to discuss. Immigration. We need to build a wall.

Moderator Raymond: We have arrived at the end of our debate. We’ll now give each candidate 30 seconds to close. Amalgamation Raymond –

Amalgamation Raymond: We must worry less about being loved and worry more about being respected; I’m a different kind of Republican; I was born to a poor family, look at me now. I represent everything you could be, but of course you’re not me, and you’re probably already behind; If elected, the first thing I intend to do is undo everything already done; I’m the only one who separated siamese twins, the only one to operate on a baby in the womb; I’m gonna redirect this question and set-up the Democrats for failure because this false  dichotomy is the only way I’ll get elected; I’m a normal guy with a wife, kids, and a motorcycle. That’s why I ask for your vote; Washington is holding us back, but don’t worry, political ineptitude doesn’t run in the family; We don’t beat anything anymore.



Pre (Board) Gaming

I get off the train and exit the Dupont metro station. It’s post-work so people are scurrying out of the hot and humid metro station into the open air. People look stressed and rushed and relieved. A few people even appear to be carefree. Krispy Kreme. Greetings. Kisses. Departures. Newspaper stands. Foot traffic. Car traffic. Green stuff. Fountains. Tourists.

“Excuse me, can you help us find the Daily Grille?”

They show me a printed map. The woman points to a location and says it’s on 18th street. I know it’s around. I vaguely point towards The Front Page and Krispy Kreme and say it’s in that direction. I’ve never been to the Daily Grill, nor will I ever go. The husband points towards 18th street and mumbles something about let’s try this way. It feels good to be a foil to sensible, concrete directions.

I walk towards a lady loudly raving about masterbation. She’s in the middle of the sidewalk trying to engage two 20-something women investigating a parking meter. I’m not judging. I support masterbation, but I really don’t need to know when you started and why your methods are superior. And no you’re not being persecuted by the mastabatory police, who at this very moment, are playing with a parking meter instead of themselves.

I finally reach Dupont Circle’s north exit.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where to find this new, swanky bar or restaurant you’ve never heard of,” asks a man dressed in a dapper, incredibly uncomfortable suit. I throw my hands up, shrug my shoulders, say no, and keep walking.

Dolcezza gelato. My destination is reached. Yes, the $7 scoop of lemon ricotta cardamom and Stracciatella is worth it.

Now I’m ready to play board games.


Dear Binary Heartfelt Discombobulation #10976

Dear Binary Heartfelt Discombobulation,

I’ve been waiting for Google’s automated, driverless vehicles for at least as long as I’ve been experiencing dropped cell coverage in Metro’s tunnels, and perhaps even as far back as my first beltway traffic jam.

Unrelated, today during lunch my food and drink was swarmed by ants in just a few minutes.

– R, Thursday July 23, 2015


Dear Binary Heartfelt Discombobulation #10975

Dear Binary Heartfelt Discombobulation,

I’ve come to occasionally expect the unexpected when walking into a room, but until today I thought the odds of seeing Ted Cruz DJ a LGBT wedding inside a Hobby Lobby were about the same as walking into an auditorium and seeing a grown man rap about Drupal.

Unrelated, today I wore corduroy pants.

– R, Wednesday, July 22, 2015